[Not an RVing article, but hopefully interesting and useful to RV52.com readers. Love you all. Cheers – Marlan]

My dad died in 1987.

Age 59.

I’m not even sure why. I had heard he was on dialysis, was bit by a spider in South Texas. Very sad that I’m not even sure.

My parents divorced in approximately 1980. It was so long ago – the memories are fuzzy. The best I can do on dates is large generalities.

Our family took sides. I was a minor child so, by definition, I was PUT in a side by law and you’d better be true to your side or there would be hell to pay. I had siblings and they took sides too. Right or wrong that was what happened.

I made a judgement against my dad. I was punk kid and thought I knew something about life.

I saw my dad one more time before he died.

He came and visited me in Lincoln in 1986. I wasn’t very friendly. (even as I write this 2014, I struggle to hold back tears).

You see I had some high and might morality. It is such BullShiRt really. But tell a kid that. Even worse, when the side-taking occurred, I had no real coach telling me to separate the event from the person.

I know this isn’t true for some people, but for most (many?) it probably is true… Your dad is probably a pretty darned neat guy and knowing him is worthwhile.

Mine died before I figured this out and the opportunity to know each other as peers is gone. I’m horribly pained by that. And there is nothing I can do to take it back.

I know a few things about my dad.

He loved to have fun. He was renowned for that. He never ever worried about money. He was terrible at saving money. But somehow he had enough money and when we sold our farm in 1978, we were flush with cash. So the evidence says he was pretty smart in a sneaky way.

He never really got stressed out. I think I inherited that trait from him Love it – Thanks Dad.

He quit smoking cold turkey in a single day. His smoking was really cool compared to most people. He used Prince Albert in a can. That stuff smelled so good that I can still smell it today. He would roll his own into  cigarette papers and then seal the cig shut with spit from a lick of his tongue. My dad NEVER used a lighter. He was a match man. He would take a match from a match book and with an amazing flash of his hands light his cigarette in gail force winds. His shirts always had little holes in them because of the way roll-your-own cigarettes would allow the burning tobacco to fall out.

But he was decisive and he decided. He quit smoking on a single day.

He then ate hard candy like a madman. But hey, it is still pretty impressive that he quit using sheer willpower.

I do wished that he and I could talk. He would be 87 years now.

It is with this background I visited his grave

He was buried in a military cemetery just north of North Platte Nebraska. Fort McPherson National Cemetery is the exact place.

By USA standards, Fort McPherson is really small. It was immaculately kept. The name comes from the name of the Fort which was established long ago when the westward expansion occurred and the settlers got military protection from the US government.

Today, it keeps soldiers on their last bivouac.

I found my dad’s marker and I wept. I asked him for forgiveness. I asked the good Lord for forgiveness. I spoke out loud that my dad deserved better than what he got. I forgave my dad.

Of all the things in my entire life that have passed – I hope the hope of all hopes that somehow I can see him again and make it right.

But on this day – the day I visited his grave. I did my best to let it all go.

I wonder… is it just a pile of old bones six feet away? My hope and belief is that it is not.

I took some time to walk around

I learned that many people here were not heroes. They were just people. Many times people want to be buried here because it simply costs less than other places.

What makes me really, really sad is that my dad never really talked much about his service. He was in the navy and put out to sea in the summer of 1945 which means he really went on an ocean voyage and returned and went home. Nothing to be ashamed of and nothing very glorious. He did his job which is what you are supposed to do. But he never spoke about his service much.

Which is why I’m sad. I’m horribly afraid that he had himself buried here because he had no place else he could call “home”.

And then I see these markers (mostly from military service prior to World War I)

There were 100’s of marker with the words “Unknown” on them.

Let this sink in.

My dad is likely buried here because he had no home (I understand that there are heroes here too who wanted to buried here BECAUSE the service was their home, but I’m talking about MY dad, ok?).

“Here” is a little out of the way place that really no one in the entire world has ever heard of.

“Here” lies 100’s of people who have no home, no identity, no closure, and maybe no one ever looked for or missed them.

The thought it entirely overwhelming.

This day, you can do this much

Today, on Memorial Day, be thankful for the millions and millions of people who have served our country. But open your mind to some other things you can do as well to maybe make this Memorial Day a new beginning for all of us.

Here is my parting list:

• Keep our allegiance to the OFFICE of the President and NOT the man in the chair.
• Lets ALL OF US serve the ideals of our forefathers.
• Do one selfless thing in the next few days.
• Forgive someone you need to forgive.
• Ask forgiveness – if not in person – at least out loud in private – from someone you wronged.
• Love. I really mean it, and I’m a dude, ok? Love.

And if you can, bury the hatchet with you parent(s) if you need to do it.

Happy RVing.